The Right Thing
by lokigy
Summary: chapter 4 is up and ready for reading! read and review pleezes
1. Chapter 1

1Chapter 1

The feeling had followed Rock for the whole of the day. That something was wrong was easy enough for him to distinguish, he'd traveled the wilderness long enough to know when the animals sensed danger, how the birds were just a little bit quieter and how the deer had been absent all day.

Several times he'd tried to turn the tables on any possible pursuer, he'd 'accidentally' knock over any loose branches littering the forest floor. However, not once were the branches broken by an unweary foot. He moved through some dense brush and hid, lying in wait for whatever it was to reveal itself. He waited with the patience of a predator for it to make the wrong move, the smallest of noises. If so much as a leaf rustled in the wrong manner, he'd know.

A noise at his side caused him to react, and with a wild battle cry, his brought his mace down on its head. He was distraught to find not but a rodent trying to escape the obvious danger.

Chills of apprehension rolled through him as he realized how vulnerable he was to swift attack. He raised his weapon and rained hard destruction upon everything in reach. In a frenzy of rage meant for his stalker, he succeeded only in proving that he was as helpless as a newborn to his will. Rock was like a caged animal taken from the wild, all rage and fury but no useful way to direct it.

He changed his tactics, and in defiance, sat cross-legged in the forest's new clearing. With his mace on his knees, Rock meditated. In moments he could feel the wilderness around him. Whenever he'd meditate, he could feel the life of the wild around him, flowing through the trees, the earth, the animals, even the stones. Moving in symbiosis with each other.

Not now. The flow around him was gone. Stopped. Not by force, but by affect. Like life refused to move while this entity was present. Rock had felt this before, but only after the fact. He remembered traveling through lands destroyed by Nightmare. The stillness of the death lingering there. Bugs and insects wouldn't even go to feast upon his victims, too afraid to come near this brand of death. A death as poisonous as what Rock faced now.

He gave up. If it was Nightmare following him, he was obviously waiting for something. Perhaps something he had yet to do. No. That wasn't it. He wasn't on a quest. He was simply traveling. What then, could it be? Whatever it was, Rock wasn't going to do it, and as it was near nightfall, he'd make camp in the clearing he'd forced upon the forest. It was the least he could do to repent for his actions.

Within an hour, Rock had cleared a space and constructed a fire pit to cook the opossum he'd needlessly killed. Along with some jerky he'd made earlier during his travels, he had himself a meal. He sat on a log that used to be a rotten tree he'd taken down in his fury. Another such seat sat opposite the fire, Rock's way of showing his bravery to the presence.

He waited quietly.

He could feel the singular pair of eyes watching, assessing, waiting for the right moment.

Rock closed his eyes with a sigh, it wasn't the promise of conflict that ate at him, he thrived on challenges. It was waiting for the coward to show himself, to make know his intentions, that annoyed him.

As he opened his eyes, filled with blurry weariness, he saw a figure seated before him. It didn't look like Nightmare, but the trickster had his methods. It was dressed darkly, in loose, flowing cloth that hid it's form. Under a hood, Rock could see a pale, almost shiny face, bereft of facial hair. Rock cold just see through the fire, the tainted glint of unshined armor around it's shins. Any weapon it had was concealed by the cloak.

Defiance overflowed Rock's actions. "Hungry?" he asked, showing the remainder of his jerky, he wanted to drive even further the fact that he wasn't afraid.

"Most appreciated," the figure responded in a deep, clearly male voice. He stood slowly and walked purposely around the fire, showing Rock he wasn't afraid either. He slowly stretched out a gloved hand. The jerky was exchanged, and without saying a word he moved back to his seat. Whatever he was planning would come later.

They sat quietly, the silence a void filled only by the sound of the fire and the slow chewing of jerky from the figure, but soon, the jerky was finished and only the fire was left.

The fire-filled silence was maddening.

"What is your purpose in following me?" Rock demanded assertively. He hated the chink he'd put in his armor.

"I'm here to take your life," the man stated simply. Rock could swear he had heard traces of some emotion in his words, but the noise from the fire made it unclear.

"You seem confident," Rock stated.

"As formidable as the 'White Giant' is, I've nothing to fear from you."

The words hit Rock like a handful of pebbles, more annoying and insulting than painful. "I shall put your words to the test," Rock challenged, laying hold of his weapon.

"If you wish," the figure said as he stood. It seemed that he was several inches taller than Rock. He pointed off into the forest. "There's an open clearing in that direction. We will go there since you don't want to damage too much here."

Rock would have been caught off guard by the man's observational skills, but his mood wouldn't allow anything as weak as that. Not now.

He followed the figure through the trees, and soon they were in a small open field that the forest hadn't overtaken yet. The moon shone high in the cloudless sky, lighting the field more than enough for Rock to see.

The figure stood, facing Rock, several paces away. He took hold of his cloak and slowly removed it, revealing all underneath. He wore foreign shoes that curved upwards at the toes, the shin guards were confirmed, but that was the only armor he had, his clothes were as dark as his cloak and his shirt had no sleeves, showing off a pair of strong, defined, if pale, arms. He wore a mask over his face. It bore a wicked expression, probably meant to intimidate his victims. Strangest of all was the his hair. It was deep blue in color, something Rock had never seen.

The only weapons visible were a curved sword hanging from his belt at his back. There was also a small knife strapped to his left thigh. Rock determined that the knife was used for carving, it was a little too small to be useful in combat.

Rock raised his weapon as the man drew his sword.

"Loki," he shouted introduction.

"Rock," he shouted back.

"Its an honor."

Rock didn't respond, he'd said all he needing to say.

They readied their weapons.

All was still, the creatures seemed to stop their nightly routines to watch quietly.

The world seemed to sigh.

Simultaneously, they rushed each other. Rock took hold of his mace at the top of the shaft and threw it like a punch at the man. At the instant before impact, the man twisted out of the way and spun in a circular motion to connect with Rock as he passed. Rock began to feel cold as his weapon fell from his hands. He could barely feel the blood running down his back from the deep cut in the back of his neck. He fell to his knees involuntarily as Loki moved before him, his sword back in it's sheath. He took hold of the knife on his thigh as he knelt before Rock, looking him in the eye.

The blade was slid between his ribs without hesitation. He could feel the life drain from him like a waterfall. And before it all went dark, he thought he heard the man say something, as quiet as a whisper's thought. Something that made Rock understand his actions... and forgive him for them.


	2. Chapter 2

1Chapter 2

the time of the gods had come and gone, but evidence of their passing remained for all to see... if they took the time to look. The Euridyce temple, hand-crafted by Hephaestus himself, stood atop of one of Rome's highest peaks. Steps that only the gods could climb spiraled to the temple gates at the top. A smaller path, man-made, ran parallel to the steps of the gods, for anyone, pilgrim or farmer to ascend to the temple to worship or simply to see for themselves proof that gods _do_ exist. Some time had passed since the last of man had come to see it. Only Sophitia, the last remaining servant of the old gods was left. Left to sweep and stave off the ravaging hands of time from this holy place. But despite the loneliness of the mountain being her only companion, she was content to stay and protect the temple and the artifacts contained within. Love for her children allowed her to find the strength to stay, lest malevolent hands find the power she alone kept safe. A chill, like an ethereal hands of the gods, ran up her back at the thought of such hands holding their power. Countless families would be lost, and she could not let that happen.

Thus, she stayed, trained, cleaned and waited for the day when she would have to stand up for what she knew to be right. She wouldn't have to wait much longer.

_Down in the village propper._

Rothian, the town blacksmith and husband of Sophitia, couldn't take it. The years of staying home to look after the house and take care of the children, while his wife went of great adventures, had finally gotten to him. It wasn't even that he had to stay home, it was what came to the minds of all and the mouths of most that had finally gotten under his skin. In the beginning, he'd take on half the village if one of them was stupid enough to call his wife an adulterer, a woman who had children all across Europe, and went on 'adventures' to keep her husbands from getting suspicious. A lunatic who believed in gods dead as dust under a rug. Rothian had dozens of scars attributing his love and dedication to the perception of his wife. But that was some time ago, and time is love's greatest oppressor. It had taken but two words from his daughter to send him into a rage, to words that used any other way wouldn't have meant a thing to him, "where's mommy?"

That was all it took for Rothian to find the motivation to buy a horse and take of the mountain where his wife said she'd be until the gods told her otherwise.

But he wasn't the only one headed there.

_Midway up the mountain._

A figure dressed darkly slowly made his way up the spiraling, man-made stair to the temple's gate, and to the object of his intent.

_Atop a pillar in the Euridyce Temple._

A girl in green spied her prey, a malicious smile shaping her features. She stayed low to avoid being spotted. When the moment was right... she'd strike.


	3. Chapter 3

back with chapter three! and to whoever reviewed, thanks for it but don't assume my stories are like anyone elses. i hate sigfried, why the hell would i hook him up with anyone? but to all others, i hope you enjoy this one... possibly enough to review. wink wink. peace

Chapter 3

She stood before the statue of Hephaestus, lost in the moment. The overcast sky shielding her eyes from the glaring sun, the god-made streams flowing on both sides of the platform where she stood. She closed her eyes, she felt her mind go at ease to the point where she almost transcended the material and could faintly hear the whispers of the gods. Unexpectedly, she felt sad, at least, she thought they were her feelings, but she wasn't sure.

No, she concluded, they weren't hers. The gods were saddened, by what she wasn't sure. They had been all but resigned to fade into nothing as the people lost their belief. What then could it be, she wondered. A noise became known to her as she ended her meditation, a faint, consistent patting that was barely noticeable over the sound of the water. She could think of few explanations for the sound, less of them good. She quickly made her way to where the weapons made by the gods were kept. And with Omega and a shield on hand, she took to the noise. It's movements were hard to follow, but she caught up to it soon enough.

A figure, dressed darkly in a cloak that concealed all, stood, looking up into the face of the gods, just as she had but a few moments before. But the figure's eyes shone with defiance, and not adoration, as hers had. She couldn't help but wonder what fueled that defiance. But her wondering was cut short as she found herself locked, the figure staring deep into her eyes as she did the same. She almost forgot her duties, but shook herself mentally and called out, "I am Sophitia, protector of this place. What business do you have here?"

There was a long pause before an answer was returned. "There is something of which I am in need here."

"What is it you need?" she asked. "Perhaps I could assist you in some way."

A small chuckle came from the figure, as though he was amused by her offer of help. "I've no doubt that you wish to help," h said as he slowly removed his cloak, revealing more dark clothing, two weapons, a short, curved sword at the base of his back and a knife strapped to his thigh. But most confusing and intimidating was the mask he wore, a hideous expression frozen onto his faced, and the blue colored hair that she had never seen on another. The cloak was picked up in the harsh winds of the mountain, and was blown away and out of sight.

She became alert and ready as he drew the sword, sheath and all, from his back. "But I have several that your wishes will remain unchanged with the knowledge of my needs."

"Then I will stop you," she stated as she moved to about seven paces in front of him.

There was another short laugh that ended quickly as he made a short, jerking slash in her direction, sending the sheath of his sword flying at her. She blocked it from hitting her in the face easily with her shield, but it seemed it was only a distraction. He bolted to her left and cut down hard with his blade. She brought up her sword arm like she was throwing an uppercut to stop his attack. He attempted to knee her in the middle but earned only a bad bruise as she hit it with her shield. He groaned, and unconsciously slackened on his blade, which was easily turned away. Not letting this chance escape, Sophitia connected with a kick to the side that sent him tumbling to the ground, rolling close to the edge of the platform. He got up slowly, still intending to continue.

"Do you still wish to fight?" she asked despite his stance.

"With all that I am," he replied defiantly.

"As you wish," she whispered as she ran to him, he attempted to end the fight with a spinning cut aimed at her legs. But Sophitia was in no mood to be stopped, crouched down to block the blade, and propelled herself upward and backward with the legs he had tried to take out, and landed a kick straight in his chin. He was stunned badly, but didn't fall. Another kick, much harder than the one before, connected with his face, sending him up to fall unconsciously into the stream below the platform, as Sophitia landed gracefully on her feet.

Satisfaction turned to worry in her heart, despite his actions, she wanted to help him, and, throwing down her weapons, jumped into the water to save him before he drowned. With less effort than she though necessary, she was able to get him back onto the marble platform. She paused momentarily as she took notice of his hair, which was no longer blue, but a more natural blonde. Could he be Romanian? Whatever he was, he wasn't breathing. She removed his mask, plugged his nose, put her mouth over his, and blew deeply into him, forcing air into his body. He wasn't going to die before she got her answers.

Rothian came upon the scene, to see his wife on the ground with another man. Rage flowed through him like the streams to his sides as he quickly went to them. She looked at him in shock, as though she hadn't heard him coming, as he threw her roughly to the side. Angrily, he brought his boot down onto the wet man's stomach, causing him to cough up everything inside. Rothian landed another kick to the side of the man's face, sending him onto his belly. He was coughing like a madman as Sophitia grabbed hold of Rothian's arm and forcing him to listen to the cries he hadn't heard up till then.

"Rothian, what you doing?" she cried concernedly.

"ME!" he shouted back in her face. "What am I doing? How dare you ask that of your _husband_!"

He continued shouting, completely oblivious of the man retreating to the temple, stooped from the stomps and mask in hand.

"Never have I believed the rumors of your unfaithful ways, but no more."

"Rothian, please. You misunderstand the situation."

"How could that _possibly_ be it? I caught you with him!"

"He was dying, he fell into the stream and breathed in the water. I was trying to save him," she explained.

"_Really_? Then why did he cough when I hit him?" he demanded.

"You must have forced the water from his body," she said after a pause.

He looked at her suspiciously, and said, "Well, I'm going to see if he tells the same story, where is he?"

"He must have run off," Sophitia suggested as they looked around.

"Why would he do that unless he was hiding something?" he returned, his suspicions back.

"He does," she answered, going to where she had thrown Omega. "He attacked me before he fell."

"What?" Rothian asked incredulously.

"I don't know why, but he attacked me to get something, something he needed."

"I can think of a few things men need," Rothian whispered angrily.

"What?"

"Nothing. Lets find him."

Sophitia nodded as she crouched down to pick up the sword. She could see a gleam of light from the corner of her eye, and reacted just quickly enough the stop the strange blade. She expected to see the man, but was surprised to see a girl, dressed in green before her.

"Aaaah, I missed," the girl said with an innocent smile. "You want to fight... sounds like fun!"

Sophitia staved off a couple of attacks from the girl's strange, circular blade. She looked into the girl's eyes...and pitied what she saw.

"You poor girl," she said softly. "You've never known happiness...have you?"

The girl's expression changed completely as her mask broke and showed not but hatred beneath. "You're going to pay for that," she stated, her smile returned. "I'll go get your children."

This time it was Sophitia who's grip faltered and the girl kicked her in the side of the knee, causing her to fall. Before she could get back up, the girl was gone. And she was left alone with nothing but Rothian, the wind ... and the fear for her children.


	4. Chapter 4

hellos once again! oh, i am in a good mood... hope you are too, people of my story reading. also, if you feel up to it, review, as it increases moral and the probability of faster new chapters uploaded for your possible enjoyment. its a symbiotic relationship we can both enjoy... hopefully...read and review and feel however you want about my words lined up in story format!

Chapter 4

Thoughts swirled through his mind. Thoughts laced with frustration and self-disappointment. He couldn't bring himself to accept how badly he had failed. In a matter of seconds, he was incapacitated and would be dead now were it not for a jealous husband. The past was too frustrating to laugh at.

He had been so sure, so confident in his abilities, that he hadn't considered the level of his opponent, assuming that she'd be as easy as the last. Never again.

He looked up, at the face of a statue, a physical representation of a god long dead. His gazed then took in the expression affixed to his mask laying on the marble floor before him. He contemplated the effects of faith in a warrior, how it could make one a stronger fighter. How one who had faith in the long dead is stronger than one with faith in the material.

Whatever the effects of faith, he made a decision.

As he knelt before the statue, creating in his mind a figure of his master in its place, he took the knife strapped to his leg. He held the blade to his chest, internally vowing that he'd never fail again, that every enemy between him and his goals would fall. That his dreams would come true...

Chills ran through his body and mild as he vowed. Chills and... something else stirred in his chest. A feeling he'd never before experienced ravaged his body, a feeling beyond the emotion or the spiritual, bordering on the physical. The feeling grew and spread until it filled him, and still it grew and spread. Leaving him to believe that he was more than what he was before. The pain that had irked his body was replaced with a burning need, the need to do. To do all it took and more, to fulfill his goals, to make his dreams come true. It was amazing, he felt like he do anything as he opened his eyes to the world and seeing it in ways he'd never considered before. From a new angle that revealed facets never comprehended, never considered, never imagined.

He looked down at his hands, unfazed by their emptiness, his eyes aflame with wonder and ambition and malicious intent. He looked up at the statue before him, as he unblinkingly re-dawned his former expression. Momentary consideration was given to his lost weapon as he continued to look into the marble eyes. His grinning countenance, examined the statue, a white marble creation holding up a golden sword as if to fend of the impending attack. Without doubt in his ability, he took hold of the handle just above that hold taken by the statue. With ease he made the blade his, and quickly disposed of what was still attached to the blade, marble hands still greedy for the gold. The blade, far too heavy for most, was like a twig to him.

He looked back to the mutilated statue, amusedly finding its new condition more fitting to its position in the minds of the people. People who once looked up at this same marble with faith and love. In fact, its state was too good for the dead, he decided, and without further consideration it was reduced to rubble. And he laughed, for the first time since his goals were found on the horizon of his soul. It was uncontrollable. Confidence and belief, faith and ambition flooded his mind, and a voice was heard. A voice spoke to him, a voice so much like that of his master. It told him of his need, his need to grasp his dreams with both hands... by whatever means attainable.

"Yes," he replied out loud as he stalked the halls he'd just passed through, no, not him. That cowardly dog couldn't have possibly been him. The gold blade split the marble tiles on the floor as he walked. Purpose and intent filled his actions, an intent that was left unsatisfied as no one was left in the temple. All were hurrying to the town where the woman lived. They'd not taken lightly Tira's words. No doubt, it would be some time before they came back.

From the top of the stair, made by 'gods', he could see them, husband and wife on horseback, riding frantically home. Unaware. Unaware of his new gaze, his new point-of-view, his brand new look on life. They wouldn't even know what hit them.


End file.
